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Just as he was bowing to the crowd and about to step onto the ramp up to the rocket ship, loud knocking interrupted.
"Master Tintin," Nestor's voice sounded clearly through the door as he and Snowy both cracked their eyes opened and yawned. Not a beat later, "Master Tintin," he repeated with a note of urgency.
Groaning, Tintin scrambled out of bed and staggered- heavy gait soundless on the thick carpet of Marlinspike- to open the door. "Golly, Nestor, what's the matter?"
The grand house's butler and most faithful servant stood back, the candle in his hand making him look fearfully browed and foreboding in the back overcoat thrown on top of his purple pinstriped pyjamas. Despite the early hour and limited capacity of his brain cylinders, the open and genuine worry on his face made Tintin shake off all desire to go back to bed. Snowy peered round his legs, barked once and darted off down the hall, moonlight reflecting oddly off his fur. He swallowed, "What's happened?"
Nestor bowed his head, ever the consummate professional. "It's Master Haddock, sir. I... could not think of any course of action other than to alert you immediately."
"He's not..."
"No, sir. Though... 'incapacitated' in another way."
With a frown and a shrug into his dressing gown, Tintin bade for him to carry on. Nestor straightened up, meeting his eyes with the determined look of a soldier on the precipice of war and twice the dignity. "He is crying, sir."
His mouth dropped open in confusion. "He- he- I'm awfully sorry, Nestor," he murmured wanly, grasping hold of the doorframe to keep himself upright as the hallway beyond the butler's head began to spin slowly. "You'll have to repeat yourself. I could swear you just said-"
"Yes, sir."
"Right." Tintin closed his mouth and pulled himself together- you didn't get to be a world-famous young reporter by losing your head in sticky situations. "He's... he's in his room, I take it?"
He finally pulled his left arm into his sleeve and tied his gown as best he could with fingers he absently realised were shaking as Nestor responded in the affirmative. "I heard a noise and awoke, sir, realising it came from Master Haddock's room. I was about to knock and ask if he required anything, since he retired to bed rather earlier than he usually does, when I heard it. I knocked on the door but I don't believe he heard me."
"Right," Tintin nodded firmly and stepped fully out into the hallway. "Thank you, Nestor. You must be exhausted- I'll deal with the Captain." Was that a hint of concern he detected, darting across the faithful butler's face as brief as a shadow?
If it was, the emotion was gone as quickly as it came. "Very well, Master Tintin. Let me know should you require anything."
Tintin nodded again, walking past him and down the hall in the same direction as Snowy, who had disappeared like a ghost in the darkness.
-
Despite knowing his way round the Captain's ancestral home even in the pitch black, after the sun set Marlinspike often made Tintin nervous. Shadows lunged around corners like fearful beasts and the thick carpets absorbed all the scant light and became black holes and abysses- the moonlight and Nestor's skill meant the place never smelled musty, but then in consequence it was almost too clean, sharp and lethal at the back of his throat. None of this stark effect was abated by the fact he was padding down the long hallways lit by nought bar the odd chink of moonlight; getting closer and closer to where Snowy was fussing and following disembodied wails like the heroine of a ghastly Victorian novel full of crinolines and flowery prose.
"Oof!" Tintin exclaimed, tripping over Snowy, realising only then the dog was closer than he had thought. "Crumbs, Milou!"
The dog stopped yapping, suitably chastened. In the next moment, Tintin was to half-wish he would start making a noise again, for the silence allowed the happenings behind the Captain's bedroom door to filter through. He didn't know what he expected, when he has stepped out of his room and made his way here, however it certainly was not this: horrible, wretched gasps interrupted by a harsh sob on the rare occasion the man could catch his breath in the eye of the storm. Sobbing that spoke of a complete and utter lack of control, hope or happiness. As if the Captain would never be happy again. In that moment, as his own heart broke, Tintin was not sure he would either. Snowy whimpered, in pain or unison.
Squaring himself, he knocked at the door. "Captain?"
No answer.
"Perhaps he didn't hear me." Louder, he continued, "Captain? It's me."
No answer.
"Captain, are you... alright?"
No answer, unless there was one to be found in the horrible crying.
"Captain, if you don't answer me then I'll come in!"
Snowy pressed against his leg for comfort and Tintin took a moment to reach down and scratch between his ears, giving the elder man as long as he could to formulate a response.
Nothing.
The sobs did not lessen, nor did they increase. Behind the door existed a man trapped in a constant state of misery, and there was only so much of it he could bear to listen to. He was going in.
-
Feeling rather foolish that he had not yet even stopped to consider if the the door was unlocked, he tried the hand and was hit by a sense of relief that was jarring, then thrust right back into despair as he caught sight of the Captain beyond, curled in his bed and sobbing.
Being of the canine variety, Snowy had none of his qualms and plunged headfirst into the room without hesitating, barking softly when he got to the bed and discovered it was too high for him to climb up. Concerning Tintin most and finally getting him to cross the threshold (with a brief consideration shutting the door again behind him) was that the Captain remained seemingly oblivious to their presence in spite of Snowy's increasingly loud noises of distress.
Rare had been the opportunities for him to take a prolonged visitation to this room and glancing round to try and find some evidence as to just what was going on here, Tintin couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary. The carpet was clear, the belongings all neatly away; what few personal effects and decorations untouched. The heavy curtains were closed and a hint of whiskey hung in the air, yet even that was fainter than usual and the bottle of Loch Lomond on the bedside table more than half full.
"Captain?" he repeated softly, edging forward round the other side of the bed. Still no answer. He looked at the far wall the Captain was facing and tried to find an answer or clue there, but yet again there was nothing. He turned back to the form lying prone on the bed, struck by the realisation that he looked incredibly vulnerable without his hat.
Seized by a sudden urgency, he knelt down and reached over to lay a hand on the closest arm, "Capitaine?"
Finally started into awareness, the Captain flinched and gasped, the breath catching in his chest and turning into a wheeze; he looked up only to meet Tintin's eyes and at once look away again, a further blush of shame joining the redness of his face. Still the tears kept falling. Tintin swallowed round the lump in his throat and pressed on, already seeing the metaphorical walls beginning to be thrown up again. "Captain, what ever's the matter? Are you ill?"
He shook his head minutely, "N-no."
"Then what-"
"It's... it's nothing. Why are- I'm alright. Have you got another adventure for us, this late at night?"
In some queer way, the blatant lies hurt more than anything else that had so far occurred this evening. With a determined growl, Snowy finally succeeded in scaling the bedspread and whimpered until the Captain reached out to pet him listlessly, the excess of salt water leaving his fur tufted up in little spikes.
Tintin remembered he had been asked a question. "No. There's no adventures- rather, we are worried about you."
"What for?" he blustered. "I'm fine." Tears were still leaking out, running from his face and soaking into the pillow. Tintin could not think of what else to say or do other than to force him to meet his gaze and continue to look at him kindly and softly, staying where he knelt even as more and more tears escaped.
After an immeasurable amount of time, the moment broke and the Captain turned to bury his head and renewed his sobbing. "Really, I'm fine," he choked out in a desperate attempt of obfuscation.
Shocked anew by such a display of vulnerability, Tintin grasped his hand and held on tight. The crying did not stop and Haddock tried to pull away, ashamed.
He made a noise of dismay, "Archie?"
The dam broke and the tears began in full force and Tintin was forced to watch again, helpless, feeling closer and closer to the verge himself.
"I'm sorry," he gasped when the sobs ceased for a moment- it was like a drowning swimmer getting one chance for ait before being plunged back into the choppy waters again, waves crashing over his head.
Caught on the precipice of decision, he picked a side and clambered to sit beside him on the mattress, leaning back against the headboard and soiled pillows. "You've nothing to be sorry for," he assured quietly. "...Is there anything I can do?"
He shook his head again, the motion half lost in the trembling that assaulted the rest of him, scrubbing one hand over his face and wiping at his nose and mouth. Carefully, Tintin shifted closer, guiding him to lie so his forehead brushed the hem of his bathrobe and they should share one another's heat. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"You're already doing... I'm fine- will be fine. It's just-" he waved his hand in a vague gesture. "'S always like this."
"Oh," he replied, trying to act as if that made perfect sense.
It was no good- none of this made any sense. "What is?"
"Ah, lad, there's no need to trouble yourself with-"
"Tell me. Please?"
The Captain sighed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand again. "Mostly I can- I can think of something else. But sometimes I just can't. Or something happens. And I can't carry on the lie to myself that I'm anything other than a miserable, stupid old drunkard and- and damned wretched. Tonight's just one of those times, I suppose. I- I haven't been sleeping well and tonight it just all boiled over. I'll be fine in the morning."
"You mean you'll be able to pretend you're fine in the morning."
Ignoring or ignorant of the betrayal in his tone, the Captain just shrugged. Same difference. He raised his hand to wipe his face again, then murmured inaudibly when Tintin caught his wrist and lowered it again, leaning close to wipe his face with his own handkerchief and then push back the strands of hair that had fallen into his face and gotten caught in the emotional crossfire. He was shocked and also not at all shocked to see the tears were yet to cease, or even slow down.
The silence, heavy with the weight of what seemed the whole of Marlinspike leaning upon top, was broken with his stilted next words, a pause between each one as he carefully chose each one and lay them down one after another. "...I, I can't pretend to know what this is like. And it'd be pointless for me to tell you that you shouldn't think such things of yourself, but..."
"But?" the Captain prompted, dreading the answer.
"But please know that's not at all how I see you. Or anyone sees you."
Somehow, the kindness was even worse than disgust. "Perhaps you should."
"Perhaps you, being at the eye of the storm, cannot see how bright you shine in the light."
"That's-" not true. But his throat closed up and he couldn't finish.
"Well then next time you need to hear it, I will tell you again," Tintin said, as it was as simple as that. His hand came to rest on the Captain's back, a soft and comforting gesture. "Now rest, Archie. I'll stay here the rest of the night."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
Ungodly exhausted and still crying, the Captain didn't protest further and relaxed into the mattress, already half asleep. The last thing he was conscious of before he fully dropped asleep was Tintin beside him, who wanted to be there. Perhaps it really was as simple as that.